


Mark of Love

by Enterthetadpole, Whatsastory



Category: Septiplier - Fandom
Genre: Comedy, Farce, Parody, Romance, the bachelor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 16:52:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16916670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enterthetadpole/pseuds/Enterthetadpole, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatsastory/pseuds/Whatsastory
Summary: Mark Fischbach, eligible bachelor, world traveler, and painting extraordinaire can't catch a break in the romance department. Will he find love on his new television show, Mark of Love?





	1. Pilot Episode: Take 1

Mark sits awkwardly on the hard wooden stool, a beautiful background of roaring surf behind him past the veranda. Powders on fluffy puffs are applied to his face, and he can't help but think that he feels like a blank canvas ready to be painted.

"Okay, Mark," Sarah, the executive producer tells him with a smile that reminds him of the Cheshire Cat, "tell us about yourself. Look at me, not the camera. Keep your hands in your lap, please."

Mark clears his throat, not sure where to start. It's all so much easier to him when he's explaining his paintings, not himself. Maybe if he thinks of himself, even if a bit conceited, as a work of art it'll make it easier. He decides to go about it as direct as possible, unsure if he'll be charming enough for the contestants he's about to meet.

"Uh, I'm Mark Fischbach, I'm twenty-nine. I'm a painter... Look, I don't know what you want me to say," he mumbles and his hands swipe nervously across his perfectly coiffed hair. Pieces stick up in each direction now, making Sarah's nerves stand on edge.

"Just... pretend the camera is your date. But don't look at it. Make it fall in love with you. You're handsome, you're rich, famous. You've got a lot going on for you. Just relax. And for the love of God, don't touch your hair again."

After a bit of pampering, he's back to the same regal look he sported moments ago. He's not sure if pretending to be attracted to the camera is the way to go, but who is he to decide? Sarah seems to know what she's doing, so he'll follow her lead.

"I'm Mark Fischbach," he starts again, repeating the same few lines he'd just said. "I'm a painter, with art displayed internationally. I'm a world traveler, a food connoisseur, and... hopelessly unlucky when it comes to my love life. I'm here to try and find that Mark of Love."

Sarah sits back in her seat, pleased at his little intro. Maybe he's not so bad, after all. He'll work. If nothing else, his face alone will bring in the ratings.

"Good job, Mark. You can go on inside as we film the other intros. Your room is on the opposite side of the house, so don't think you'll be able to sneak a peek!"

Once Mark is stowed away safely in the confines of his room, Sarah looks through the roster and calls the next man to interview.

"Chase Brody?"

The first thing she sees is his obnoxious flat billed baseball cap, and unsightly mix of neon green and orange. But the smile that settles below the bill of the cap is sweet, and she can't help but think that he doesn't look half bad.

"Sup," he says brightly with his knuckles eager and waiting for a bump.

"Right... sup. So for your interview, we're going to get a few slow motion shots of you looking out into the water longingly. It'll be really artsy, your eyes will look startling against the ocean. Sound good?" She asks sweetly, but the look on his face says he doesn't like the idea.

"Okay, but like, what if you get some sick shots of my hacky skills instead?" He asks, already up to his wrist in his pocket, fishing for some unseen prop.

"Hacky?"

"Yeah, bro. Hacky sac." He doesn't wait for her reply before the toy is in the air, bounced up and down on his ankles. She clearly isn't amused, but with a roll of her eyes, she gestures to the now winded man, a sign to keep the camera on him.

"Tight, right?"

She's finally able to wrangle him back in, but not before deciding that she's underpaid, and gets him to sit in the same stool that Mark previously used. She sets him up for his cue, and he's ready and confident for his moment in the spot light.

"If you wouldn't mind taking your cap off, Mr. Brody, we can get started."

He looks temporarily mortified, but resignation graces his features momentarily. He reaches up and drags it from his head, revealing tattered strands of hair, just a memory of what once was. The sun reflects off of the bare patches of skin, and Sarah can't help but ask herself why he doesn't just shave the rest off?

"Oh, fuck," she hears from the camera man at her side, and she agrees. Oh, fuck, indeed.

"On second thought, just leave it on."

"Suhh dude, I'm Chase. I'm twenty-eight and I'm here because... because my wife...Stacy..." he begins tearing up, and the camera cuts giving him a moment to regain his composure.

"I'm Chase. I'm twenty-eight, and I'm here because my wife Stacy left me and took the kids, so I'm here to replace her." His mega-watt smile is present and gleaming, but slowly morphs to a mournful grimace.

"Why did she leave?" He asks the camera directly, leaving the entire crew feeling very uncomfortable.

"Stacy, I miss you! Just, let me see the kids, please! I'm sorry that I let my sick tricks get in the way of our marriage... oh shit, I fucked it up again, didn't I?"

Sarah nods with her mouth agape, not entirely sure what just happened. She's lost all control, she decides. The bar is calling her name loud and clear.

Chase settles back into his chair, no sign of his meltdown evident.

"Sup, I'm Chase and I'm twenty-eight years old..."


	2. Pilot Episode: Take 2

The mist of hairspray hits way off of the target of the teal colored floof of hair and Jameson's blue eyes squint as they feel the burning sensation. The black mustache gives an annoyed twist to the left, but the face softens at the quickly laced apology from the make up artist.

"Please don't blind him, Jane," Sarah sighs, placing her clipboard back in her hands. "The studio can't afford another lawsuit."

She points her pen a little more aggressively than she means to, and it flies out of her hands and the poor little man barely dives out of the way in time. If he was able to speak the curses would be flying out of his mouth. The ground hurts like a bitch, and especially when there is no carpet to cushion the fall.

"Sorry, Jameson!" Sarah yelps. "

She turns her head towards a monitor where Jameson is shakily getting up and placing himself back on the stool. He flails when Jane tries to come at him with the hairspray can.

"Leave his hair alone.  Let's try it from the top, and this time hopefully the subtitles are working, Gary."

A slender man with a long amount of dark brown hair winces at the way Sarah says his name, and begins typing madly into a small keyboard. With a small huff, the Cheshire cat smile is back on Sarah's lips, and she starts the interview for the second bachelor in the group.

"Whenever you're ready," she chimes, glancing back to the perch man on the stool. His navy blue vest and dark pants pop out nicely against the lighter background, and with a wave of sign language filming begins.

_Hi. My name is Jameson Jackson. I'm 28 years old, and I'm so excited to be here._

"And we are so happy to have you here, Jameson," Sarah replies, her relief that this time the closed captioning is working correctly.

"So tell us a little bit about yourself."

The silent man scratches the top of his head, brow furrowed in what looks like deep concentration. The black mustache wiggles.

_I really love cooking, and making silent films. If you haven't noticed yet, I'm not able to speak, but please don't think that I can't also hear. People make that assumption all of the time._

Jameson opens his mouth and gives what would have otherwise been an audible sigh of frustration.

_That's part of the reason that I wanted to come onto the show. To give people like me a public voice, no pun intended._

"And what do you think that you can offer Mark as a suitable partner?"

The black mustache twitches again as he thinks deeply about the question, then his blue eyes light up.

_I believe that I'm smart and very understanding. Plus I'm a quiet as a mouse, and won't interrupt him when he's painting. I also can mold a perfect replica of the balls of a moose with just some glue and lawn clippings._

"You can what?"

There is a banging sound at the table where Gary is sitting. His face looks strained as he presses buttons into the small keyboard.

"Sorry that whole part about the moose wasn't him. This closed captioning is a bitch to figure out."

After wrapping up with the cute little man, Sarah quirks her face as the next contestant almost glides into the room. His silver white hair is long and tied up in what can only be called a giant "man bun" and draped over his slender shoulders a dark green magician's cape. The crown of what the hell though is a small cat mask on his narrow face. It covers up practically all of his features.

"Right," Sarah mutters, trying not to stare too much at the man. "We're going to have to at least take off the mask, Marvin."

There is a gasp of shock from the man standing across from her. His hand touches his chest as if the producer has suggested that he'd have sex with a goat.

"Firstly, my dear madam," the man loudly states, "My name is not Marvin. Such a silly common way to say my name. It's correctly proclaimed as Marvin the Magnificent. Or Mr. Kitty Boy if you've captured my attention."

Sarah can feel her patience already becoming part of a cheesy magic trick and is slowly disappearing.

"Let's just get your introduction out of the way, all right?"

The magician gives another wave of his white gloved hand as he bows deeply before the camera. 

"And unless you only want half of your appearance fee, I'd lose the mask."

With mutterings that sound very much like an ancient curse the cat mask is off of the delicate face, and Sarah is pleasantly surprised by the fact that at least the overconfident man is handsome enough.

"Greeting, dear viewers and lovers of the mysterious. You may call me Marvin the Magnificent, and I am here to finally take the plunge into the most wondrous form of magic that there is. To find my truest of loves."

"I really can't believe I dropped out of law school to do this," Sarah groans into her clipboard. "Only a year left. What the hell was I thinking?"


	3. Pilot Episode: Take 3

"Please, for the love of god, please make this almost over," Sarah grumbles to herself as she looks over the clipboard.  _Great, not even halfway._

"Antisep...ticeye?" She calls to the waiting men, an audible gasp escaping her lips as he stands, the clear image of blood plastered against his neck.

"Are you alright? Medic!" She yells behind her to no one in particular, but is shocked as a hand is placed delicately on her shoulder.

"I'm fine. It's just a tattoo," he mentions and points to the 'blood'. She breathes a sigh of relief and leads him to his seat, waiting as he gets comfortable.

Jane makes her way over to him, teasing at his hair despite his swatting her away. She wouldn't dare spray him with hairspray, afraid he might actually combust from the anger already radiating off of him. She dabs at his neck tattoo with a bit of concealer, the audience would be horrified at the realism. With a final poof of powder to his nose, she smiles at the work she's accomplished. He almost looks normal, almost.

"So...  _Antisepticeye,_ that's one I haven't heard before."

"Family name. We ready?" He barks, an air of authority surrounding him. She gulps, but nods her head anyway.

"I'm Anti. I don't have an age. I am eternal-"

"I'm sorry, did you say you're a  _turtle?_ " Sarah asks, almost too afraid to speak up, but she needs to know just how psychotic this guy actually is.

"No," he sighs with a roll of his eyes. "I said I'm  _eternal._ "

Her brows quirk in confusion, but gestures for him to go on. He takes a deep breath and picks at his fingernails, maybe he's no so scary after all, she thinks... Until he grunts and takes a knife from his pocket, and instead uses that to clean the grime from under his nails.

"Anyway, as I was saying. I'm here because all of these other men... their bodies are  _weak._ They're nothing compared to me. And this guy, Mark? He's mine. All of these people,  _are mine."_

Sarah sits quietly, as does the rest of the staff, unwilling to butt in. His tangent sounds more like a manifesto, and if Sarah's learned anything from studying criminal cases, it's that you shouldn't interrupt a psycho when they're on to something.

"Hey, Sarah? Take a look at this," the camera man beside her, Allen, points to the screen in front of him.

"What is that? Some sort of camera flare?" She looks from the man in front of her, sitting perfectly still, to the screen in front of her, where the same man is glitching in and out of focus.

"I've never seen anything like it," he shrugs back.

"Perfect. Just great. Alright, Anti. You're done. Thank you."

If Sarah could change anything about her life, it would be making sure that the casting director was fired and blacklisted. Are these group of weirdos  _really_ the best that they could do? And if so, then it's true what they say,  _all of the good guys really are taken._

"Jackie? You're up," she calls, hoping to god that this guy is at least somewhat normal. She's severely disappointed when a man in red footsie jammies stands up and adjusts the green mask that covers his eyes.

"Jackieboyman, at your service!" He jumps and lands with one fist presses into his side, the other raising up towards the cloudless sky.

"Okay." She doesn't have the energy to even dignify him with a more welcoming reply. Instead she plops into her folding chair and waits for him to do the same.

"Are you going to take your mask off?"

"And reveal my identity? You must be crazy!" He shifts his mask grumpily, blue shining through the eye holes.

"I can totally see his face underneath," Allen whispers as he leans in, but Sarah waves him off, unwilling to waste anymore time on this shitty project.

"Please, go ahead and tell us a little bit about yourself."

"Well, hello, there," he smiles brightly in to the camera. "My name is Jackie. But you can call me your friendly neighborhood Jackieboyman! I absolutely will  _not_ stand for any crime whatsoever. Speaking of which, have you got a proper filming permit?" He looks away from the camera and directly at Sarah, who's two seconds away from running in to the sea and never emerging.

"Yes, Jackie. Everything is in proper order."

"Perfect. So as I was saying. I have some real concerns about that Antiseptic fellow. His names sounds so clean, but I can tell he's really  _dirty._ Wait, no, that came out wrong. I can tell that he probably likes to get rough... I mean. Shit. He looks like he's no stranger to handcuffs... oh god dammit..."

' _That's it. I need a blunt and a fifth of whiskey',_  Sarah thinks.

"Please, just continue. I understand what you mean. Don't worry, we've got twenty four hour security on set." It's better than telling him what she really wants to say, which would probably result in him body slamming her.

"Perfect. So anyway, as I was saying... my names Jackieboyman, I'm 27, and I like long walks on the beach. I like a glass of red wine with dinner when I'm feeling particularly risqué, which hopefully Marcus will make me feel," he giggles snootily.

_'Can I abort myself after I'm already born?'_

_"_ Hey!" Jackie's voice rings out, bringing Sarah from her day dream. "Are you out of your fuckin' mind? That guy just littered! Pick it up!"

Before Sarah can react he's charging at one of the caterers with blazing speed and a look that could kill.

"Film it," she whispers, and decides it's the only way that this show will air past the pilot.


	4. Pilot Episode: Take 4

With Jackieboy sitting in a bit of a "timeout," the production can resume. The crew feels a bit more on edge, as this group of men is clearly unstable. Sarah can't help but feel bad for Mark, he's really got his work cut out for him in all of this. She hasn't seen even one man that's sightly normal. They're all... very different, and yet, alike in some way that she can't quite put her finger on.

The next man on the list has a name that she can pronounce, and for that she's very grateful.

"Robbie?" She calls, and is immediately taken by the vibrant violet hair and bright white eyes. He's unlike anyone she's ever seen before, but he's so beautiful. The pallet that makes up his aesthetic is striking, and she decides that he may just be the best looking of the entire group.

He shuffles over slowly, dragging one foot behind him as if he may be partially paralyzed. She frowns as she watches him, worried that he might not be well.

"Are you alright, sir?"

She's comforted as a warm smile crosses his features and a gentle nod confirms that he's okay. He settles in to his seat, a bit sloppily as he hangs over to the right, but if he can't walk all that well, perhaps he can't sit up straight on his own. And that's okay, she decides, they'll edit it to make it look straight.

"Okay, Robbie. Go ahead and start when you're ready."

"Thank you, ma'am. My name is Robert, and I'm 26 years old. I'm here because I, myself, am a bit of an art connoisseur. I've been a fan of Mark's work for quite some time, and I so look forward to meeting such a brilliant mind. I, too am a world traveler, and I feel that he and I would have an amazing adventure together. We could travel to the art capitals of the world. Paris, namely. I so look forward to dining on their exquisite cuisine. Fragrant cheeses and fresh baked baguette. It makes my stomach rumble in anticipation just thinking about it. We could visit the French countryside, perhaps visiting a few local vineyards and trying their freshly made wines. After that I would be incredibly interested in exploring local museums, and just really immersing ourselves in the local culture. There are so many different countries that I think he would be interested in traveling to, and I would love to show him around. Thank you all so much for this opportunity. I plan on making the most of my time here, perhaps making a few friends along that way. I wish you all a good day!"

Once he's finished he stands up slowly, giving a curt nod and a friendly smile before going back to the waiting area with the rest of the contestants. He hopes that he's made a decent impression, he truly is a fan of Mark's, and knows that they would make a wonderful couple.

"Oh, um. Thanks, Robbie. We'll call you when it's your turn to shoot again," she tells him politely as he shuffles off. Once he's gone from ear shot she turns to the rest of the crew, and their faces are just as confused as hers.

"Did any of you understand a fucking thing he just said? It sounded like a jumbled mix of moaning to me?"

"I think it's some sort of foreign accent," Gary replies, his head glued to the monitor. "Best not to say anything and put in subtitles? Last thing we need is to be sued by another activist group."

Sarah gives a quick nod of agreement and sighs happily when she gets to the last name on her page. Just one more name. She can deal with just one more weirdo, and then it's just her and a bucket of beer for the rest of the evening.

Sarah winces at the long name on the paper, and tries with all of might to pronounce it correctly.

"Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein?"

Within a few moments a man dressed in a full set of doctor's scrubs barrels into the room, complete with a mask on his face and rubber gloves. His dark brown hair is barely seen, covered up by his outfit and his bright blue eyes looking shifty from the right to the left.

"Okay," Sarah said slowly, blinking at the nervous man. "It says here that you like to be called Schneep?"

"Vhy?" the doctor barked out, the German accent muffled but clearly there. "Vhat have you herd? Whose asking about my name? I have alibis as to vhere I vas during all of the times that those patients were killed. I mean...died. They tragically died...of natural causes."

The doctor pulls his cap off of his head and places it over his heart.

"Those poor poor nuns," he says sadly. "The old bats never saw it coming."

His eyes shoot up to look at Sarah's and the other crewman's faces.

"I mean, of course they saw nothing! It vas an accident. I had nothing to to vith it! I vas out of town at a tongue depressor convention. You can ask anyone! Vell, no, just ask the few people I have listed on the legal documents."

Sarah reaches into her pocket to make sure that she still has her headache medication on standby. She does, thank the Lord.

"Just tell use about yourself, Schneep, and please leave out any felonies, if possible."

"Oh, all right," the doctor says, now looking slightly more relaxed and pulling off his medical mask.

Granted he might have committed a few homicides here and there, but at least he was fairly pleasing on the eyes.

"Hallo, I am Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein. You may call me Schneep anytime, Henrik if I like you and Dr. Love if you're nasty."

He curls his fingers like a tiger and growls at the camera. Sarah face palms.

"I am 27 in the years of birth and I am looking forward to cutting out the heart of Mark and selling it on the black market. I mean...stealing his heart and keeping it for my own."

Schneep looks around again, looking more nervous than before.

"Can ve start that again? I think I should change that line about the black market, no?"

"No," Sarah grunts as she throws the notepad over her head. The sound it makes as it hits the tiled floor is astounding. "Wrap it up everyone. I'll be at the bar if anyone needs me. Just do me a favor, and don't need me for at least the first few rounds."


	5. Advertisement is Everything

He puts the phone to his ear and dials again. His blue eyes narrow in focused hope and his fingers drum on the kitchen counter. This would be the time that he would pick up his call. Lucky call number 32 of the day.

After three rings the phone goes to voicemail. He sighs as he hears the deep lovely tones saying to leave a message after the tone. Another message would be fine. He's only left a few today.

"Hey Marky," Jack says, voice high pitched and breathless. "It's me again. Jack. Sorry...that was stupid. Of course you know it's me. We've been together for years. You know my voice. Anyway, I know you said that you wanted to take a break for a while, but it's been a few months now. I miss you, Marky. If we can just go out for a coffee or you know..anything at all that would be great. Call me?"

He hangs up the phone, and curses. That message was so much dumber than the last. Next time he'll write down what he's going to say instead of going off the cuff. It'll be so romantic it'll blow Mark's fucking socks off.

He opens his fridge and frowns at the possibilities, settling on a half finished bottle of  five dollar wine for dinner. At least it's cherry flavored, something sweet in his sour world. Maybe a little late night television mixed with the sugary liquid would partially fill the crack in his heart and dry the tears in his eyes.

He clicks aimlessly through the channels, but nothing was catching his eye.  _Cartoon, soap opera, news, news, news._ He sighs, deciding to chug the wine and head to bed, but a commercial with a certain someone as the lead caught his attention.

"Mark Fischbach, world renowned painter, is this year's eligible bachelor."

Jack turns the volume up and sits on the edge of his seat, sweat already forming and making ungodly stains on his white t-shirt.

"Hello everybody, my name is Mark, and I look forward to being  _your_ bachelor."

The camera switches to a new angle, showing a crowd of overly excited men standing in a row, with Mark in front of them holding his token for the round advancement. It zooms in on smiling faces, cutting to a small segment of each one.

"I am eternal," a green haired and eyed man looks menacingly into the camera.

"Do you have a filming permit?" A man with a mask covering his eyes and a hood over his head asks with sincere concern.

"Dr. Love, if you're nasty," a German accent growls with a sassy paw in the air.

"I'm here because my wife Stacy left and took the kids, so I'm going to replace her," yet another man with tears in his eyes and a sorrowful soul whines.

Then there are flashes of other men with smiling faces on the screen. A pale one with violet hair who is grunting nonstop. Then one with a black mustache who is speaking in sign language. Who are these freaks and weirdos going after Mark?  _His_ Mark?

This has to be a trick or some sort of sick joke. There was no way that Mark could just drop him for some cheesy television show full of crazy people. Jack grabs the phone again and dials. He has to talk to him. Needs to find out what the punchline to this gag really was.

His foot taps impatiently as he dials the same number for the 33rd time of the day. The familiar voice clicks on, and he rolls his eyes as he waits for the beep.

"Marcus, I just saw the advertisement for this year's bachelor. You're on a  _fucking_ television show? Looking for another man? Have you lost your ever loving mind? What did I do to deserve this? We were happy! We were building a life together... and you're just... throwing it all away... and for  _what?_ Did you see those men, Mark? They're..." he stares at his phone blankly as it beeps again, letting him know that his message ran out of time.

_Call number 34 is under way..._

"I was cut off last time. They're freaks, Mark. They're fucking...  _weird!_ Is that what you want? You know what, no. I'm not gonna let my  _boyfriend_ behave this way. Absolutely not. I'm coming to get you, Mark. Pack your things."

In a flash Jack is packing an overnight backpack. Convincing Mark to come back to his senses should take an hours tops. Then a little seduction and expensive wine would have them back snuggling in no time.

The drive would be long, but he would figure it out even if he had to fucking hitchhike. Anything would be better than his Mark sucking faces with any of those so called catches. With his bag packed and keys in his hand Jack locks the door to heads out to the valley. From the exterior shots that's absolutely where the show was being filmed. He knew exactly where to go.

"Don't worry baby," he whispers as he heads north to the nearest bus stop. "Your Jackieboy is gonna rescue you."


	6. Day 1: Cameras Start Rolling

The group is ushered into the impressive house once all of the interviews are complete. It's massive, and many of them hadn't seen such extravagance in their entire lives. Shiny marbles floors, grand crystal chandeliers, and of course, beautiful paintings made by Mark himself, are what catch their eyes first.

The place is massive, and it would take a good long while to explore each room. The thought alone was enough to excite Chase, as he thought of all of the room for tag and maybe even an indoor game of pickup basketball?

"Okay guys," one of the producers, Garret, tells them, "Bedrooms are upstairs. Go find the one you want!"

The group takes a moment to look at each other before coming to their senses and bolting for the stairs. They're all pretty quick, and the camera men struggle to chase after them... Well, all except for one.

Robbie frowns as he's left in the dust, struggling to even make it out of the foyer before the other men are already at the top of the steps, sounding like a heard of cattle as their feet stomp across the ceiling.

"Bunch of uncultured hooligans," he says out loud. "As though we are cavemen instead of civilized human beings."

Garret frowns at the lavender haired man, trying his best to get what he is saying beyond the grunts and sharp whistles.

"Why don't I have one of the crew grab you a spot," he mentions kindly. "No need for you to end up in a uncomfortable place just because everyone else can move a little quicker."

Robbie smiles, and nods his head happy that he is at least being acknowledged at all. It's hard being slower than everyone else, even when he was slightly younger, and before the accident that caused his super pale appearance and hunch like gait.

"Wendy, make sure to grab a room near the stairs for Robbie," Garrett calls out to a dark haired assistant. "So he can get a bit of a head start during the dating tasks, okay?"

Upstairs it's practically a blood bath. Arguing, pushing, shoving, tripping. These guys don't play nicely, and the crew is excited to capture the footage. If they keep this up, the ratings will be through the roof week after week, and they can all expect a nice bump in their paychecks.

"This one's mine," Anti barks from the doorway of a darkened room that he's only just glanced in. From what he can see through the dim lighting of the hallway is a large, silky looking bed, and that's really all he cares about. He won't be spending his time away from home on some uncomfortable cot, nor will he be sharing a room.

"Fuck," he snaps when the light is turned on to reveal a pastel pink room, complete with a flowery quilt and throw pillows. This is  _not_ his style, and he will absolutely not be seen in here, but by the looks of the other rooms, he's stuck with it.

Marvin can't help but smirk at what Anti is going to have to live in for at least the next few weeks. The magician has already claimed the room across from the green haired man, and is much more satisfied with his choice. The room is filled with light from floor to ceiling windows and plushy white shag carpeting and bean bag chairs.

The other person in the room is also a good one. Jameson was the fastest out of everyone else and is already happily putting some of his clothing in the shared closet. Not only would the silent man was a sharp dresser, but snoring wouldn't be an issue with him at all either.

"What's so funny," Anti growls at Marvin's smiling face. "At least I have my own private room."

The blue eyes of the magician glance at Anti's heavy metal shirt, and then at the pastel colors of the room.

"That's very true," Marvin chuckles. "I'm sure your Barbie dream house is just as you would like it."

Down the hall the doctor and Chase have found a shared room. With polite smiles in each other's direction, they decide that they'll probably make decent roommates. Of course they'd prefer their own room, but, sacrifices have to be made for the sake of the challenge.

"I just want you to know," Schneep tells him as he lays on his bed with his hands behind his head, "I masturbate a lot. I have a lot of stress that must be released. The endorphins calm me down."

"Oh," Chase replies. "That's... I guess I'll do it too, then. For the stress relief."

Schneep lifts and eyebrow to what the jock has just said, but then gives a little shrug. At least the guy is kind of hot, just as long as he keeps the baseball cap on.

Robbie is just able to get up the stairs in time to round the corner into the room Wendy has made sure is saved for him. At first, he wonders why this room was avoided, but now stepping in he realizes why. The room is incredibly small, as in the size of a small closet.

The bed is barely the size of a twin bed, and there is no other furniture except for a little end table. As far as a place for his clothes, there is a tiny little rack just big enough for a few shirts and pants. Luckily that's all he has brought, but still...

"Sorry it's a little small," Wendy says apologetically. "We had to make this hallway closet into - "

"No need to give sorrows to me, madam," Robbie interrupts with a grunt. "It's perfect!"

A loud crash turns Wendy's attention to large bathroom down the hall, and she is running to see what happened. It's only when she sees Jackieboy man throwing the rest of his luggage into the bathroom that she connects what's going on. He's making that his room, apparently.


	7. Getting Ready

The cameras flip from room to room as audio/visual technicians scan the monitors for signs of movement. The first night, in their experience, always turns out to be explosive. The men aren't even close to being aquatinted with each other, and the promise of a handsome man waiting for them at the finish line should make for a few fireworks. So far, though, they're disappointed at the quiet that settles around the house.

It takes a while for each of them to fall asleep, but once they do, the techs are a bit unnerved to find each of them laying on their right sides, with their left legs bent at the knee, lovingly cuddling a pillow next to them. The cameras flip back and forth from room to room, each view point showing basically the same thing. It's strange, to say the least. There's something that's so similar about each of them, but they can't quite put their fingers on it.

Oh well, they decide. Hopefully breakfast, when they finally meet Mark, will be a bit more chaotic. They need the ratings.

Mark is the only one who is still up, slowly pacing back and forth. His head in his hands as he tries to figure out if this truly the best idea for not only his love life, but his career. The black hair is a mass of tangles, and it is with difficulty that he runs his fingers through it.

There's a laugh that is barely covered up with a cough and Mark rolls his dark eyes to the apologetic camera man. This is nothing that he hasn't dealt with before. He gets followed around in his normal life. Part of being a famous painter, but he wishes that the cameras would at least be pointed away when he was undressing for the night.

The next day brings chirping birds and clear skies. It's almost unheard of that the night went so smoothly, especially with the way the men both sized each other up and/or eye fucked the shit of the others.

Making breakfast proves a different story, though, and Sarah sips her coffee as she watches, hangover pounding in her eyes and churning her stomach. The night before was spent with a bottle of tequila and some older man she met at the bar named Hank. She didn't think that her day could be worse than the previous, but she was wrong.

"You're a horrible fuckin' cook. Those eggs smell like fucking shit," Anti sneers as he looks to the burnt food in the pan. Marvin rolls his eyes in response, and it's clear that their little spat from the night before is still going on.

"I'm fairly certain that no one asked for your opinion on how I like my eggs," Marvin snorts back, blue eyes puffy from not getting enough time in the shower. Jackieboyman refused to leave so the magician spent the entire time with the caped madman staring at him as he washed his hair, with the excuse that he was making sure he didn't steal all of the shampoo.

_How the hell do you even steal shampoo?_

Jameson and Dr. Schneep are both sitting at the far end of the long kitchen table, with the doctor giving an interesting set of ideas as to why Jameson couldn't talk. None of his theories weren't anything that the silent man hadn't heard a million times, but he listened with a strained sort of smile.

Robbie is the only one still in his tiny room at this point. Slowly he puts on his socks and pants, then changes his mind and pulls them off to start again. It's Sarah who is able to convince him that there are so many times that the crew can film him scratching  his lavender hair thoughtfully. The pale man frowns, and Sarah begins to search for another cup of coffee.

Jackie paces back and forth across the dining room, peering over shoulders to read phone screens and listening in on conversations. It's obvious to the crew that he's keeping up his little vigilante routine. It's beyond annoying, but honestly, they're hoping that he finds something that he deems against the rules. The drama of it all could be compelling.

They're all lost in the own little worlds when it's announced that they should begin making their way to the filming room to meet Mark. With butterflies fluttering around in their tummies and palms sweating, they push their way to the makeshift stage to line up and introduce themselves. It's only when Marvin is the last to leave the dining room that Robbie finally makes his way down, frowning as he sees their backs leading away from him.

"They're incredibly talented with speed, wouldn't you say?" He asks to one of the men behind the cameras. "I should only be so lucky as to catch up with them! Well, come on, old sport, let's follow the heard!" In his mind, he's doing his best impression of Jay Gatsby, but in reality his grumbles and moans still completely baffles everyone around him.

Mark is getting his last bits of makeup powdered onto his face, lips frowning at the bright light shining in his face. He can hear the sounds of talking of all of the men he is about to meet. Along with the general mutterings he also hears what sounds like loud curses and something very close to groans. He's not sure of what to make of this group of strangers.

Hopefully at least one or two can carry on a conversation. Nice if there is a curvy ass from a few as well.,

"Okay, let's get this party moving," Sarah calls out to the other men. "Mark will be coming out of his room in the next few moments. Please try not to kill each other, all right? You all will get a chance to chat with him in a one on one later."


	8. Day 2: Introductions

Robbie finally shuffles to his place, and the other men breathe a sigh of relief. If they have to constantly wait around for him, this is going to be a long, long season. Jameson gives him a warm smile as he takes his place immediately to his right, signing a quick "hello." Robbie's face twists in confusion, unsure of what he's trying to say, but he doesn't have time to try and decipher his words at the moment. 

Somehow Anti and Marvin have been placed next to each other, yet again, and it's clear to everyone that they're jabbing each other with pointed elbows and throwing shady looks back and forth. They're too much like children, Schneep thinks. He's got this in the bag, Mark may as well call the competition before it even begins. Jackie is just about to break the two up, hopefully getting Anti into a sturdy pair of handcuffs and booked at the nearest station, but the room becomes silent as Mark is finally seen in the connecting doorway.

"Hello, everybody! My name is Mark and welcome to this year's Bachelor. Now, you may remember this show, as it's been on for a few years now..."

"What the fuck is he talking about? Is he talking to us?" Marvin asks Anti, taken aback by the fact that he's speaking directly in to the camera rather than making any sort of eye contact with the contestants.

"The fucker is talking to the camera, you idiot," Anti replies. "It's a television show. He'll get to talking to us soon enough. Don't get your sparkly man bun in a twist."

The magician scowls at the green haired man, taking a small moment to adjust a few strands of his silver hair into place. Mark is absolutely going to think he's the best catch as soon as he actually looks at the competition.

"So I appreciate you all being here with me for my own personal journey of love," Mark continues, flashing the camera a brilliant smile. "Now without further delay, let's meet the handsome men who are all here to steal my heart!"

 _About time_. Jameson signs as he adjusts his vest and sits a little straighter in his chair.

"Let's get started with everyone's names and occupations," Mark says brightly, and Jackie and Robbie both smile at the handsome face. "How about you with the goth look?"

Both Anti and Robbie stand up, and Schneep chuckles loudly.

"Sorry," Mark says. "The goth to the right, with the green hair."

Anti shoots a proud glance to Robbie, telling him silently to fall back. Of course he'd go first. He was number one in the competition, if you could call it that at all.

"My name is Antisepticeye, it's a family name. You can call me Anti. I'm a social worker. Happy to meet you, Mark." The words are hard to get out, too sweet and sticky for his like. But, if he has to lay it on a little thick, then so be it.

"Thanks, Anti. Nice to meet you, too. Next? The other goth," Mark smiles brightly.

"I'm Robert, so lovely to meet you, darling. I'm a food critic. I travel the world tasting the finest cuisine. I'd love to bring you along on my journeys at some point," he tells him with a wide grin and proud, squared shoulders.

Mark looks back to the crew, hoping for a clue of what the lavender haired man just said, but they only can offer a shrug in return. They'd been trying to figure it out themselves.

"That sounds... great. Glad to have you here. Um, next. You... with the... pajamas?"

Jackie steps forward, slightly annoyed at his costume being called pajamas, but he wouldn't let it get him down. He had to stay vigilant.

"I'm Jackie. Pleased to meet you," he tells him with his balled up fists punched against his sides. "I'm a mall security guard, but I'm looking into going to the police academy. Thanks for having me."

"Yes," Mark says, his voice slightly higher than before. This isn't the type of guys he was told he might be meeting. Granted, all of them has a certain hot quality about them in their own way, but nothing that was jumping at him. At least at first sight.

"How about you with the cute mustache?"

Jameson smiles widely and jumps up without making a sound, then gives Mark a cheery wave. The guy behind the camera looks nervously at Sarah right before starting to transcript the mute man's signs.

_Wonderful to meet you, Mark. I'm a film maker and would love to show you some of my movies sometime._

Mark gives a small sigh or relief that at least Jameson seems normal enough. The enthusiasm is adorable too. Sarah points over to camera four to make sure it catches the way Mark is leaning in slightly towards Jameson now.

"I think I might love that," Mark admits, giving the quiet man another winning smile. Jameson feels his knees buckle slightly. "I love movies. What are your films about."

_Mostly comedies involving drowning hamsters in day old split pea soup._

Mark's mouth drops comically and Sarah groans as she looks at the screen.

"That can't be what he said, right?" she whispers over to one of the stagehands off to the side.

"Uh... that's exactly what he said..." he whispers back, eyed glued to the monitor and mouth hung open just as everyone else'.

 _Kidding, I'm kidding!_ He begins to sign again, and soon nervous laughter fills the room.

 _They're silent films. You'll just have to watch and see_ 😉

The producers look around, unsure of how an emoji managed to make an appearance, but they decide against saying anything about it.

"Ha," Mark lets out a weird mixture of laughter and relief. "Awesome. Thanks, Jameson. Uh, next, you with the... mask?"

" _Marvin,"_  he shouts, slamming his fist down and sending up a plume of purple colored smoke around him, " _the magnificent."_

The room erupts into applause, even his fellow contestants are amazed at his stage presence. He's so elegant and also clearly amazingly talented.

"Wow!" Mark gasps, genuinely amazed. "Tell me more about yourself, Marvin the magnificent!"

Marvin looks around nervously, tugging at his collar as suddenly the room feels devoid of oxygen. He hadn't thought this far ahead. He thought he'd be able to retain the air of mystique.

"I'm a magician," he says simply, and steps back in to place.

The doctor grumbles inside his surgical mask so loudly that Mark can almost hear him cursing in German. His arms are crossed in from of him, and it's clear that he's not happy about being talked to last.

"And I assume by your clothing that you must be a doctor," Mark says happily.

The blue eyes look startled at the guess.

"Vey do you know this?" Schneep whispers fast and distressed. "Who have you been talking to? Vhatever they have offered you I can pay more!"

The silence is back in full force as everyone in the room stare at the panicked physician. Schneep chuckles incredibly loudly and makes a vain attempt at trying to look casual.

"I mean, yes I am a surgeon. Best in the country. You can tell anyone!"


	9. Too Bad the Cameras Weren't Rolling

The issue is slipping past security. As far as Jack can see there seems to be a guard in a bright yellow polo every few hundred feet. He'll have to wait in the bushes near the edge of the property, but he doesn't mind, he came equipped with snacks and a few comic books to keep him occupied in the meantime.

He brings the heavy black binoculars to his eyes and scans each window, hoping for a glimpse of the perfectly styled black hair that he loves so much. He frowns as he takes notice of several other men, but no sign of the one he craves to see the most. No matter, he'll most assuredly be there, and it's only a matter of time until he's naked and sweaty and bringing him back home where he belongs.

Jack has no problem staying in the itchy shrubbery for hours if he needs to. This is all for Mark, and Mark is worth a thousand scratches and bug bites. Luckily it seems that today is a good day to have been waiting outside. Finally he sees the familiar silhouette of his ex boyfriend in the balcony window.

The film crew wraps up early and it leaving right after sundown. Hopefully they won't be back too early. Jack has a plan, but it's going to take all night to execute correctly.

He slips out of the shadows already dressed in black. His skinny jeans are tight against his hips and t shirt hugging his firm just like Mark has always liked it. The rope and crowbar are heavy in his hand, but if one of his favorite super heroes Spider-Man can shoot a web, then he can throw a line.

With the crow bar tied as tightly as he can manage, he throws it with all of the might he thinks will be needed to latch it against the sturdiest looking drainpipe, but frowns when it bounces from the brick dining and clatters against the ground. Okay, he thinks, I'll adjust the trajectory a bit and try again.

It's with three more throws that finally it catches, and he smiles wide in triumph. He gives it a few tugs, and one more for good measure and decides that it  _should_ hold his weight. He's not very heavy, and he thinks it'll work.

With a black boot placed against the side of the mansion, he hoists himself up and begins scaling the wall to the window that he'd spotted Mark in earlier. It doesn't take long for his hands to burn and his lungs to heave, but still he persists. It's for Mark. It's all for Mark. He can do this, he can do this.

Jack's muscles hate him with every pull and he barely can feel his legs anymore, but he doesn't give a damn. This is for love!

Grabbing at the balcony railing is the first time that he can breathe properly again. He puffs as he looks through the large sliding glass window, and is relieved to see Mark's favorite pair of blue jeans resting on a desk chair. Good. This is the right room.

The pale hand pulls hopefully at the sliding door, and as if it was a signal that the was meant to be it opens softly. The sounds of Mark's muffled singing reaches the Irishman's ears. He's in the shower and Jack heart flutters at how gorgeous he must look.

But now isn't the time to think of that, if he did he'd surely be unable to force himself to keep hidden instead of jumping in with him and letting him ravish his deprived body. No, now the time to hide, but where? Under the bed? No, the space looks worse than cramped, and he isn't quite as limber as he was when he and Mark were still together. Behind the chair? No, he'd be easily spotted from Mark's vantage point from the bed. It's then that he realizes his only real option is the most obvious; the closet.

He can only hope that Mark has his pajamas already in the bathroom with him, or perhaps stashed in the large dresser. Shuffling as quietly as he can, he opens a door and is relieved to find a large open space, plenty of room for him to camp out for a few hours until he can make his move. It'll work nicely, he thinks. He even has enough room to lay down and get comfy.

Just after he shuts the door quietly behind him, he hears the singing stop and the other door opening. Soft foot steps pad around the room, and Jack's heart nearly jumps in to his throat. But soon there's barely any noise at all , and the soft lighting filtering under the door is clicked off, and he knows he's safe for now.

Jack exhales as softly as he can, and if he listens hard enough he can hear Mark shuffling around in the bed. He misses the way that the dark haired man sighs when he is getting comfortable, and can almost feel his warm lips on his neck.

Jack can already feel himself getting turned on by the idea of being with his love again. The goosebumps are traveling over his slender arms and legs, and there is a tingle in the pit of his stomach. Slowly he pulls off his clothing, trying his best to not make any loud sounds. Then once everything is as still as he can make it, the Irishman opens the closet door and walks quietly around to where Mark is laying under the covers.

Mark is breathing slowly, with his eyes closed and mouth slightly opened. He's asleep, but Jack knows that it won't take much to get him awake.

Jack gingerly lifts the soft cotton fabric of Mark's comforter and slides in next to him. He can already feel the heat radiating off his skin, and it's a feeling he's missed so dearly. "His human furnace," as Jack affectionately called Mark when they were still together, scoots over just a bit, but otherwise remains asleep.

Jack's fingers trace the curves of Mark's muscles, and he's so thankful that he decided against wearing a shirt to bed. He moves closer, aligning his body with the sleeping form next to him and begins pacing gentle kisses along his collar bone and up the chiseled jaw.

Mark sighs at the feeling, and a small smile pulls at his lips. The sweet familiar quality of the touches keeps him still, with only the need to see if this was really a dream is what has him open his eyes. The smile twists to slight confusion and then to shock as he realizes who the fuck is in his bed.

"J-Jack," he gasps. "What the hell are you doing -"

The rest of his sentence is stopped by a single finger pressed against his lips. Mark's eyes are wide as he tries to figure out how in the world his ex boyfriend found him here.

"Shhh," Jack mutters, giving him a toothy smile. "There'll be plenty of time to thank me for coming to rescue you from this craziness. For now let's just enjoy the night."

Mark opens his mouth to tell Jack to get the fuck out of his bedroom, but he already can feel the gentle tug of his member in the soft fingers of his lover. He groans at how much Jack can always take him to the edge so quickly.

But this isn't right. Mark left Jack for a reason, and that reason was still in play. He couldn't just let his horniness take over and control his life. He had morals and values to uphold. Letting Jack continue would mean taking advantage of him, and that's not something he never wants to do.

"You need to go," he tells him a little more sternly and pushes his magical hands away, even though it's the second hardest thing in the room.

"Wait, what?" Jack asks incredulously, and instantly he's sitting up and crossing his hands across his chest.

"You need to go, Jack. We're finished, and I don't want you here. I don't know how in the fuck you managed-"

"I scaled the wall, silly."

"You scaled the fucking wall? To my bedroom? Are you fucking insane? Don't answer that, because knowing you, you probably think that this was some grand romantic gesture. But this is exactly why we broke up. You're just so..." His hands swirl around in the air as he tries to think of the appropriate adjective.

"Extra?" Jack giggles, but Mark shakes his head.

"Fucking annoying, more like. Listen, I'm not going to report you, as long as you leave right now. Out the fucking window and into the night. Don't contact me anymore. I'm sick of hearing your voice every time I get a voicemail. Just move on."

Any one else would have been in tears at these words, but not Jack, not in this universe. No, he only feels more inspired. He'll go for now. He'll let Mark have his fun, but he  _will_ get him back. He's sure of it.


	10. When the Cameras Are Away... It All Goes to Shit

"I think we all need to sit in the living room with your hands where I can see them," Jackie sneers as he slinks through the group of men.

They're all casually mingling with cold drinks in their hands, but jealousy in their hearts. They're in a competition, not here to make friends, but they'd be lying if they said they weren't attracted to each other. Might as well have a little fun in the form of tipsy flirting.

"I'm not going in the fucking living room, you spaz. Chill the fuck out, yeah?" Anti tells him, never one to take orders from anyone else.

"Keep up that attitude and you'll find yourself behind bars," he quips through gritted teeth.

"Not from you, you mall cop reject," Marvin butts in, for some reason feeling particularly confrontational. Perhaps he should slow down with the whiskey? Then again, perhaps not.

Jameson sits on the sidelines, quietly observing the chit chat going on around him. It's when the slow shuffle sounds and the heavy seat is taken beside him that he finally smiles and doesn't feel so alone. He waves hello and is greeted by a lopsided grin.

"Hello, dear," Robbie greets. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. How terribly rude of me. I'm Robert. Pleased to meet you." He holds out a shaky hand and Jamison takes it politely.

Jameson tilts his head, confused at the fact that the others had been complaining about Robbie. He didn't hear this grunting and groaning that the others spoke about at all. The pale man has a warm and regal voice that makes Jameson's heart flutter in his chest. It doesn't hurt that he has a nice body too.

"What the fuck did you call me?" Anti snaps at the masked man.

"I called you a blowhard," Jackie snaps back, and the rest of the men all chuckle loudly.

Anti can be many things. An asshole, a short fuse, a turtle in certain company, but a blowhard? Fuck that.

"The only thing I can blow hard is your fucking mother, you pajama wearing Batman reject."

Jackie throws back his head and laughs so loudly at the insult that he almost loses his mask. He's faced bullies like this jerk all the time during his crime fighting days. He's not about to get his panties in a bunch over someone like Anti.

Chase can hear the yelling coming from behind him, but he's too lost in the bottom of another empty bottle, with his tongue wiggling in the opening hoping for one last drop. But, just like everything else, the alcohol seems to have left him. Why did Stacey leave? They were perfect together. Why didn't she like skateboarding? Why did she wanna be called "Babe," instead of "Dude."

It doesn't matter, she left, his hair left, eventually everything leaves. He should find another drink. Maybe the other men would like to go shot for shot with him? It's when he turns around that he sees they're already trading shots of a different sort. One with harsh words and dirty looks.

"Batman reject? Look at you, you fucking freak! You look... fucking demented!" Jackie screeches, rising up on the balls of his feet, secretly hoping that he doesn't tatter the the paja... costume.

"At least he's not  _actually_ demented," Marvin interjects, purely to fuel the fire.

Both Anti and Jackieboyman whirl around to meet the silver haired man's amazing sneer. Suddenly the magician realizes that he should have just kept his mouth shut.

"What's our conversation have to do with you, ya card shuffling hack?" Anti snarls at Marvin.

"Yeah," Jackie agrees. "Get your narrow ass out of our business!"

Marvin's lovely manbun falls slightly at the rudeness of the two other men. How dare they say such rude things to the likes of Marvin the Magnificent? He opens his mouth to say a snarky comeback, but turns his head to the sound of Schneep coming out if the kitchen. His face is bright red and pants completely off.

"Who vonts to  _really_ get this party started? The jack off contest vith me starts in five minutes!"

A collective " _Whaaaaaaat_?" choruses from the other men as they watch him in disbelief. He spins his... member... in a circular motion and claps with excitement before he takes off towards the stairs.

"Can we all agree that none of us are as crazy as that fucking whacko?" Marvin asks, hoping to relive a bit of the tension. He's happy to find that they all seem to nod in agreement before taking quiet, awkward sips of their drinks.

"What did we get ourselves into?" Anti asks himself and for the first time in his life, he's actually a bit uncomfortable.

If the stillness in the air could get any heavier, it absolutely did as Chase shrugged his shoulders and sulked off towards the stairs. Might as well feel a little connection with someone, anyone. Doesn't matter the who and the how.

"Can we just agree that we won't consort with these... heathens? You seem fully functional and not all that strange. It doesn't matter to me that you're lacking in the language department. We'll be chummy no matter," Robbie leans over to Jamison and tells him in a whisper. And Jamison couldn't be happier to hear his words.

_Oh, you don't know how much that means to me! You seem lovely, Robert. Thank you for being so kind_

Robbie's face twists at the rapid hand movements and he shakes his head in disbelief.

"My boy, I can't understand a bloody word you're saying," he tells him and stands up, wandering off towards the other men.


	11. Review the Footage

"So, vhere should ve start?" chimes Schneep as both he and Chase sit down. Both of the men have settle down in the nearest bedroom and are sizing each other up in all was imagined.

One of the camera men adjust the setting and zooms in on the doctor's already hard member. This is totally not making the show but it'll be great in the bloopers reel on pay per view.

"Or those soft core episodes on HBO," the other cameraman chuckles.

Chase begins to take off his own pants and then his underwear to join the nudity. He's never heard of a jerk off contest before but it's pretty clear what it entails. Besides he went to college. This isn't that far off of what he did on a usual Friday night.

Mark watches the monitors with wide eyes and an open mouth, shifting his attention back and forth between the tiny screens and the film crew that awaits eagerly his reaction.

"This was last night after I went to bed?" He asks, and shivers as the crew around him nod their heads collectively.

"So we just... like, beat our meat? And see who can finish first?" The speakers crack as Chase's voice filters through them. Mark's attention is snapped back toward the monitors, and he nearly chokes on his spit when the doctor nods and they both start to move their hands.

"Jesus, these guys are freaks!" He squeaks, but if he's being honest with himself, he couldn't stop watching even if he'd wanted to.

The dark eyes move from the doctor on the right side of the screen to the jock on the left as they begin. The thrusting motions of both of them are at different paces but the motive is the same.

Schneep has a much more steady rhythm, while Chase is much sloppier. Mark can't decide which one has the better overall technique. The doctor's groans are guttural as Chase is very quiet. Mark thinks about both of them in bed, and can barely hide his erection.

"So, how long is this video?" Mark whispers to the crew.

"Just watch," they tell him, eyes too focused on the scene playing out before them to notice Mark's uncomfortable wiggling.

He follows their train of sight back to the two men as their moans grow louder and gruffer. They stare each other down with a burning intensity and desire to win. What a game.

It's Chase who's hand moves quicker as his hips begin to buck in to his closed fist, and if they know one thing, it's a man in the final strokes before combustion.

"This is the best part, watch,  _watch!_ " One of The crew members wail as he repeatedly smacks at Mark's shoulder. He jostles around from the touch, and is on the verge of screaming that he can't pay anymore attention than he already is, when Chase's voice rings out again.

" _Stacy..._ " his high pitches wail sounds.

Schneeps movement immediately stops as Chase's moans turn to quiet cries, and then full on sobs. He's terribly worried for the other man, so much so that he doesn't even care that he lost the competition that he proposed.

"Dude, you alright?" He asks, momentarily forgetting to mask his real voice with the terrible fake German that he normally presents.

"What the fuck?" Chase gasped, looking around and realizing what he said.

"What the fuck?" Mark parroted as he glanced back st the camera crew. "Did he just climax to his ex, or something?"

One of the taller men in the back flips a few pages of his notepad. Mark is just able to see a couple of names of contestants flutter by.

"Yeah," replies the man with the notepad. "Guy has a couple of kids with the ex."

Mark groans and imagines the woman in the back of his head. She was probably nice enough, but the thought of a female version of Jack floats to the surface of the future. Chase is cute, but hell no to any of that type of baggage.

The image on the screen flips over to earlier in the night, when the men were in a group argument. They stand toe to toe with clenched fists and puffed up chests. The red in their faces only give the first clue that they're nearly coming to blows, and the shouting only confirms this.

"... Batman reject!" Anti wails and Mark can't help but to laugh heartily at the insult. The little footie pajamas that Jackie wears are cute, sure, but maybe a little immature.

"How long did this go on?" Mark asks the crew curiously. If he's being honest, he loves the thought of being fought  _over_ rather than fought  _with_ , like he always was with Jack.

"A good long while. Even after the... competition that came a little after this," one of the man says and clicks his teeth disapprovingly.

The screaming over the screen continues as Mark watches. He's halfway disgusted by what he sees, but there is an itch just in the back of his mind that feels something else. He can't quite put his finger on what it actually is, but if he had to pick a word for it...

He's flattered?

Yes, that is the closest thing that it can be. All of these men are trying to catch him as a prize, and despite everything there is an unmistakable enjoyment out of it.

"Mark, you have a package that was delivered," an assistant whispers over to him, and points towards the doorway. "You can open it in your dressing room."

"What?" Mark says with surprise, being pulled so quickly from his own thoughts. "Sure, of course."

Then with one final glance at the screen of shouting men, Mark heads out of the room.


	12. Signed, Sealed, Delivered

Mark practically skips to his room, ready to dive right in to whatever package that's been delivered. He's hoping that it will be a little care package from his mother, knowing that some of her homemade cooking, even if it's been delivered from halfway across the country, will be just what he needs to clear his head and settle his nerves. With visions of chicken and dumplings dancing in his head, he picks up the pace and makes a b-line for his temporary bedroom.

The small brown box with an ornate, even though slightly crushed, bow sits on top of it, and he can't help but giggle to himself. His mom always was one to be a little extra when it comes to her baby boy. After he rips in to this package, he'll have to give her a call to tell her house much he and his full tummy enjoyed her gift.

With quick fingers, the tape is ripped from the box, and he opens it with a veracity that's very unlike his usual self. It's only once the package is fully opened that his glee is replaced with dread and he peers inside. This definitely wasn't from his mom, and there's only one person on the entire planet that would be insane enough to send this... this monstrosity.

"God dammit, Jack," he mutters under his breath. "Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone?"

Inside of the box is what could be if it has to be called anything, a small handmade doll. It is roughly sewn together with that looks like yarn and ripped up pieces of fabric. The head is clearly supposed to resembles Mark's with what is real hair. How the hell Jack had gotten enough stray strands of hair Mark couldn't even begin to figure out.

The eyes are made out of dark brown buttons, and the mouth a crude smile drawn with either black marker or ink pen. It's the body that makes Mark groan in a digesting way however. It is most likely a condom with clumps of hair and paper stuffed inside of it.

"What the ever living hell," Mark begins, wrinkling up his nose at the sight.

There is a sharp knock on the door and Mark jumps. Within a few moments he places the doll back into the box and hides it away under the small table in front of him.

"Yes, what is it?" he calls out.

"You're wanted on the set in five minutes," replies the voice of a stagehand. "You're going to be announcing your first cut soon."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be there," he tells the faceless command.

He listens intently for the retreating foot steps down the hall and returns to his hideous gift. He stares at it in disgust for a beat, and promptly tosses it in the waste basket next to his desk. It's when the box clatters on the base of the can that he notices the scrap of pink colored paper that's floated out and landed to the side. He sighs as he picks it up, mentally preparing himself for whatever craziness he's about to read.

_Baby Marky,_

_I hope this little gift of my love finds you well. I just wanted to tell you, again, how much I love and miss you, so I thought I would show you with this doll. His name is Mark jr., and he's full of mementos if our love._

_Firstly, his body is made from the brand of condom that we always use. It's your favorite, remember? Secondly, his hair is made from scraps that were left in your brush that you forgot to take with you when you left. I still have it for when you come back. Thirdly, this little doll is full of finger and toenail clippings that I found on your side of the bed. All of the twine I personally rubbed all over my body, just so that my cells could be intertwined with yours for the rest of eternity._

_I love you, Markymoo, and I can't wait for you to come home and leave that silly show. All of those men that you're courting are like some sort of weird split personality from some deranged man. They aren't good enough for you, and they'll never love you the way that I do. No one will. Come home soon so that I can take care of you the way you deserve. Xoxo_

Mark felt his mouth open in a comical way. He knew that Jack had crazy tendencies. It was part of what made being with him so exciting in the beginning, but now Jack was definitely unhinged. Plus this part about the men in the show being some sort of split personality of a deranged man? What in the world was Jack even talking about? That was an insane thing to say.

The knock on the door returned with a vengeance. With a sigh Mark folded up the letter and placed it in his back pocket as he opened the door. He would deal with the Jack issue later. Right now he had a decision to make as to what guy would be the first to leave the show.

There was just one final chat with each of the contestants before the first heart was to be broken. Mark would need all of his concentration. Thoughts of Jack and his nuttiness would have to wait until later.


	13. The First Cut is the Deepest

"Gentleman," Mark nods to the nervous grins that looked his way. "I'm not much looking forward to today, and I'm sorry that this is the way the game works. I understand that it's not fair to any of you to be eliminated to prematurely. I've had the opportunity to review your casting footage, your initial interviews and you antics from last night. This is all that I've been given to make my decision."

Nerves. Nerves all around. The contestants look towards each other, all knowing (save for a few of them) that they hadn't displayed their best behaviors. Fights, nasty words and... other activities (the camera stayed trained on the Doctor and Chase) were not flattering. They'd have a lot of explaining to do when the time came, and none of them were really safe.

"I have to say, some of you can get pretty wild," Mark laughs, only growing more boisterous with anxious tugs to collars and reddening cheeks. "Remind me to get you all drunk more often. I think it could be fun," he says with a wink.

The camera makes another quick pan towards all of the nervous faces. Jameson's mustache was twitching like crazy, while Robbie fidgets with the hem of his black and white striped shirt. The tension is extraordinary for just a few episodes being taped.

"All that being said," Mark continues, dark eyes lingering on Anti, and then Schneep. "There is a couple of things that I just can't tolerate in a boyfriend. One is still being involved with your ex, and the other is...well, I'm just not into bald guys."

There is an audible gasps from everyone around, except for Anti. He gives a loud laugh as he points at Chase.

"Sorry, Chase," Mark says, looking at least a little saddened by his decision. "You just didn't make a mark on my heart. I hope that you and Susie can work things out for the sake of your -"

"Her name is Stacy, bro!" Chase snaps as he gets up and throws his baseball cap on the ground.

"I'm sorry," Mark tries again, but Chase isn't listening. He starts walking in tight circles, gripping at what was left of his sparse hair. Tears are brimming at his eyes, already turning a harsh pink at the lash line. A noise that doesn't sound unlike a whale bubbles at his throat, and his knees give out, leaving him sprawled on the lavish red carpet below him.

"Why doesn't anyone love me? Stacy took the kids and left. The doctor made me jerk off in a contest and now... now I get eliminated in the first round?" He screams through tears, and the other men watch on in horror.

"Mark, what if I... what if I show you how good I am at beer pong? Or, or I could learn to skateboard a little better!" He pleads, and words fail Mark. He's only able to shake his head, his eyes so wide that the fear of what may happen is evident.

"I'm cool! Mark, I'm cool!"

"You're ridiculous," Anti snaps. "And you need to take the fucking hint, baldy. Mark isn't that into you."

The swell of sad music fills the air around him, and Chase is ushered offstage by a couple of stagehands. He's wailing as if he is on his way to an execution. Chase hates that he isn't going to get a chance at love with Mark, but also wouldn't even get a plane ticket home. First guest home has to pay for their ticket home. Maybe after some hair restoration things would get better. It definitely wouldn't hurt to try, right?

"Well, guys... sorry. Wow, uh, that was unexpected to say the least, hmm? But now that the first round is over, it's time for us to start spending time together. So, we have a meal prepared for us. If you wouldn't mind joining me in the dining room, I'd like to get to know all of you a little better. Tomorrow will be the next elimination. Shall we?" Mark, ever the business man explains with a regal posture and a smooth voice.

There's a rush to the dining room, each of them trying to get a close seat to the head of the table where Mark would sit. Elbows are thrown and shoes are stuck out in attempts to trip the competition. It's only Robbie that's far enough away from the rest not to be involved, and for once he's thrilled to walk a little slower.

By the time that Robbie makes it to the dining room the other men are already arguing with each other. Anti is screaming that Jameson is way too close, while Marvin is trying to show Mark an elaborate magic spell. Jackieboy Man is in a debate with Schneep over the ethics of finding a million dollars in a suspicious black bag. The film crew is loving the craziness.

"All right," Mark calls out, waving his hand over the rowdy crowd. "Let's all try to not talk at once. I want to hear from each and every one of you. Now, I know that this game can be...intense, but please remember that I take finding a new love seriously."

 _We appreciate that_ , Jameson signed.  _It is so refreshing to see that in reality television._

Mark pauses to read the subtitles on the monitor behind the silent man, and then gives a small smile. The wink is an obvious one, and Jameson blushes.

"What type of hobbies do you like, Mark," Marvin asks as loudly as he can, and Jameson gives a startled jump. "Magic I'm sure is a pastime, hmm?"

Mark's overwhelmed to be certain, tugging at his collar and shifting his gaze from smiling face to smiling face. But, it's what he signed up for. It's gonna be a long day.


End file.
